


I Am the Drug You Can't Deny

by Angelikah



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloodplay, Curly Fry Symbolism, Dirty Talk, F/M, Hot Hybrid Sex, Siphoner!Caroline, Smut, Too Many Words, Unnecessarily Sexualized Touching, hybrid!Klaus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:07:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelikah/pseuds/Angelikah
Summary: From birth, Caroline had always been told that she was a special kind of witch. When the King of the Quarter murders her entire coven for treason, he discovers her secret, and locks her away to use her powers to keep his empire in line. An enemy of the King comes to the city looking for his own revenge, and he can't help but be intrigued by the girl in the gilded cage. He offers her the freedom she craves in return for a favor, and she eagerly accepts the deal. Five years go by and she assumes he forgot about her, but she couldn't be more wrong. Klaus Mikaelson always collects what's owed to him.





	1. A Special Kind of Witch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brophigenia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/gifts).



> Thank you to garglyswoof for beta work. I'm really sorry that this is so long. Title from "The Church of Hot Addiction" by Cobra Starship. Please excuse my terrible taste in music. It is not a reflection of story quality.

* * *

_"Can't keep my hands to myself_   
_No matter how hard I'm trying to"_

_~ Selena Gomez, "Hands to Myself"_

* * *

 

Caroline had never liked parties much.

Or, at least, not the ones her mother went to. When she watched television, parties were loud and bright, and they had laughing people and food on sticks and fizzy drinks, but these parties... They were all darkness and whispered chanting, candles flickering as strange plants burned in wooden bowls that never seemed to catch flame.

She took the juice and coloring book from her mother, frowning when she heard the girls giggling in the next room. She’d seen the twins a few times at these weird parties, and though they’d both waved and had all exchanged smiles, they were always ushered into the other room by their mother as quickly as possible whenever Caroline entered.

“Why can’t I go play with them?” she asked for what felt like the hundredth time.

“Because it’s too dangerous,” her mother said, reaching to touch her, but faltering at the last second as she always did.

“Why is it dangerous?”

“I’ll tell you when--”

“When I’m older, I know. But I’m older now than I was last year when you started keeping me in a different room. Am I sick? What’s wrong with me?”

Her mother’s eyes widened, and she sank down to the carpet, reaching for Caroline’s shoulder. She stayed completely still, not wanting to lean in and have her mother recoil, not wanting to see the fear in her eyes, and sure enough, her mother hesitated before setting her hand on the carpet by Caroline’s knee. “There is nothing wrong with you, baby,” she said, her voice sure and firm even as a tear escaped from her eye. “Nothing. They just don’t understand you. You’re special.”

“Why am I special?” Caroline pressed. “And why does me being ‘special’ mean that I can’t play with everyone? And why is it dangerous? Am I dangerous? Is this why you never hug me anymore?”

It was so silent in the room that she could practically hear her own heartbeat, her mother looking at her as though someone had ripped out her lungs. “You’re not a normal witch,” she said quietly.

Caroline frowned. “I’m not a witch. I can’t do magic. I tried, remember? Is this why I can’t play with them? Because they’re witches and I’m not?”

“You are a witch. You’re a special witch,” her mother whispered, reaching to take her hand, and Caroline’s eyes widened as she felt her mother’s hand on hers for the first time in what felt like _forever_ , and suddenly she felt an odd pulling sensation, as though she was slowly tugging away her mother’s skin. It was intoxicating, her body suddenly greedy for it, but her mother gently pulled her hand away and Caroline let her, staring down at her hands.

“What’s wrong with me?” she repeated, feeling her eyes grow hot as they filled with tears.

“Don’t ever say that again. You’re a siphoner. You’re special, not wrong. You just can’t control your powers.”

“What do you mean my ‘powers’?”

“You can use other people’s magic when you touch them,” her mother said. “You have a gift, Caroline.”

“So if I touch you, then I can be a witch too?”

“Well,” her mother started, looking hesitant for a moment before pressing on. “The problem is that if you hold on to someone for too long, you can hurt them. Witches need magic, and if all of their magic is consumed, then they can lose their powers, or even die.”

Caroline frowned as she processed this information, her hands twisting in her lap.

“I won’t hurt anyone if you let me play with them. I promise.”

“I know you wouldn’t mean to, baby. But sometimes accidents happen. Once you can control your powers, it’ll be safe to spend time with other people.”

“How do I control them?” Caroline asked quickly, perking up. “Teach me.”

“I don’t know. We’ve been trying to find a siphoner to help you, but we have to be careful. Some covens are scared of special witches, and they’ll want to hurt you.”

“So I’ll learn myself,” Caroline said, feeling determination build in her gut. “I can do it.”

Her mother smiled slightly. “You’d need someone to practice on that you wouldn’t be able to hurt in case there was an accident.”

“Oh,” Caroline said softly, her eyes wandering to her juice box and the coloring books laid on the floor, an almost unbearable sadness consuming her. “Okay.”

“Soon, Caroline. I promise,” her mother said. 

* * *

 

“Mom!” Caroline called, sprinting across the house and skidding to a halt in front of her mother’s bedroom, her socks slippery on the hardwood floor. “Mom, look at what I can do!”

Liz looked up from her crossword puzzle. “What’s going on Caroline?”

“Come see,” Caroline said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, feeling like she might burst from excitement.

Liz sighed and got up from the bed, setting her newspaper and pen aside and following Caroline to the living room, where Caroline grabbed her old teddy bear from the couch. “What’s going on, Caroline?”

“So I was cleaning the living room because I was doing my chores, and I found my Levibear from when I was a baby and it’s got magic in it, right? Because that’s how it floats?”

“Right,” Liz said slowly, her eyes darting from the bear in Caroline’s hand to her daughter’s excited face.

“Right, so I thought about what you said about how I could drain vampires because vampires were basically dead people made with magic, so I was thinking about my bear and how it was basically just a dead _thing_ made with magic and look what I can do!”

Caroline frowned, concentrating as hard as she could, and felt the now-familiar pulling sensation travel up her arm from the bear. She raised her other hand and Liz watched in fascination as the pillow floated into the air, Caroline becoming even more excited as she saw her mother’s eyes widen.

So excited, in fact, that the pillow burst, feathers flying everywhere.

Her mother looked dumbstruck, her eyes wide as she surveyed the damage.

“I’m sorry!” Caroline said, her hands wringing as she dropped the bear. “I didn’t mean to make it explode.”

She found herself engulfed in a hug, her mother stroking her hair. “Why didn’t I think of that?” her mother was whispering. “Why didn’t I think of that...”

She pulled away as soon as Caroline started using her powers accidentally, but she sat down and re-enchanted the teddy bear (and the rest of Caroline’s toys), imbuing them with power. “Practice. I’ll sit here and watch.”

By the end of the year, Caroline could control herself perfectly, and she learned that the other girls’ names were Tatia and Elena.

They were best friends.

* * *

Caroline thrashed awake as a hand covered her mouth, instinctively sucking away the magic from whoever was touching her. “Caroline,” her mother hissed, voice hoarse.

Caroline immediately stopped the drain, putting her hands up to show that she was conscious. “Sorry.”

“You need to hide,” her mother said urgently.

“Why?”

“Shhh,” she hissed, covering Caroline’s mouth again and pushing her inside the nearby closet before pulling her hand away to put a finger to her lips. “No matter what you hear, no matter what I say or what someone says to me, you stay put until I come back to find you. Do you understand?”

Caroline nodded, her heart beating fast in her chest. She could feel her mother’s fear radiating off of her in waves. “What’s going on?”

“No time,” her mother hissed. “Remember, don’t come out.”

Before Caroline could answer, her mother shut the door and she heard the lock click.

“Mom?” she hissed, grabbing the doorknob and shaking it. “Mom?”

She took a deep breath and concentrated, hoping her mother had used magic to ensure the door would stay closed, but no such luck. She was well and truly trapped.

All she could do was wait.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when she finally heard a man’s voice downstairs, his words indecipherable. Her mother’s were not.

“I don’t have a daughter,” her mother was saying, and she heard someone laugh, the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the man’s voice more audible as he approached.

“That’s a lie, and you know it. Stop trying to use magic. It won’t help you. I’m immune.”

“Stay away from there, vampire,” her mother spat, and Caroline froze, her eyes growing wide.

She knew about vampires. They were blood-sucking monsters, the most evil of creatures. They took life without a care, murdered entire towns for fun.

There was a vampire in her house.

“Why would I need to stay away if you’re truly not hiding something?” the man said, and Caroline heard the door to the bedroom open, followed by what was clearly the man’s shout of pain. “What part of ‘wipe out the entire coven for killing the King’ are you not getting here? You murdered Marcel, and the punishment for treason has always been death. We know you have a daughter, and she’ll die with the rest of you.”

“Well you’re wrong,” Liz said, her voice firm. “She’s dead. She died years ago.”

“You sure about that?”

There was a few seconds of dead silence before she heard another shout of pain. “Bitch!”

“You might be immune to magic, but my wooden furniture isn’t,” Caroline heard her mother say, and she _almost_ thought that everything would be okay.

And then there was a loud crack, a thump, and a disgusting squelch before the man laughed. Caroline forced herself not to shout through the tears streaming down her face, and she folded into herself, threading her arms around her knees.

“Search the house,” she heard the man bark, and Caroline panicked, looking around for anything to use as a channel, her eyes lighting when she spotted an old candle.

She whispered a soft prayer to a god she didn’t even remotely believe in (because at this point, it couldn’t hurt) before she wrapped her hands around the taper and _pulled_.

She felt the familiar power fill her and hissed a spell for concealment, sighing in relief when she watched the door melt away into a wall, dropping the candle as quickly as possible so that she could channel it later to get out.

Putting her hands on her knees, she closed her eyes, trying to calm her heart’s frantic beating.

 _Everything will be okay_ , she chanted. _Everything will be okay._

Her eyes flew open as a crack sounded against the wall in front of her, and to her horror she saw the wall melt away to leave the door she’d hastily concealed. She stood up, reaching out her arms to prepare to drain whoever was outside, and when the door flew open, she launched herself at the person on the other side.

It was a vampire, she could tell by the sickening cold that filled her body as she latched onto him, but she focused on draining his magic, his _life_. Heavy footsteps pounded on the floor of the hall, and two men ran into the room. She raised her hand, ready to defend herself, and when they grabbed her by the arms, she gritted her teeth and tugged at their life-forces as well. She watched as yet another man came in, leaning against the doorway, all glinting white teeth and sparkling eyes, a hat pulled low on his forehead. He watched with mild interest as the other vampires fell to the floor, grey and cracked. She recognized him from a picture her mother had shown her once. Thierry, the King of the Quarter’s right hand. Marcel had banned magic and killed anyone who disobeyed. Caroline had heard the whispers, had known that the adults were planning something, but she hadn’t known they’d planned to kill Marcel.

It looked like Thierry had declared himself the new king, and he wanted to take his revenge.

She knew he was immune to magic, had heard the conversation on the stairs, and she suspected it was because of an artifact of some kind which meant it was most likely only temporary. If she could just figure out what it was... Her eyes widened as he stalked towards her, grabbing her wrists. She screamed and struggled, but he just laughed.

“I swore to wipe out your coven for crossing me, but I’m too curious about you to follow through, I think. Tell me, what are you, exactly?”


	2. The Monster in the Cage

* * *

_"I want you all to myself  
_ _You're metaphorical gin and juice"_

_~ Selena Gomez, "Hands to Myself"_

* * *

Caroline was sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring out the window at the garden below when the door to her bedroom opened, and Thierry entered with a covered platter. She calmly took the dish he offered her, setting it on the small dining table and uncovering it, wrinkling her nose at the meal.

“Is there something wrong, Caroline?”

“No, it’s fine,” she said, wanting to be polite as she cut up the seared tuna.

She wasn’t raised in a barn, after all.

“Why am I here?” she asked after taking a bite, trying not to wrinkle her nose.

“I need your help,” he said easily, sitting down on the armchair in the corner.

“You killed my Mom,” Caroline said quietly, her breath hitching.

“I didn’t want to, but she broke a rule, and that has consequences.”

“I hate you,” she whispered.

“I know, but I think I’ll change your mind,” he said, giving her a warm smile, and she felt her stomach lurch, nausea filling her.

“I don’t think so,” Caroline said, her toes brushing the carpet as she swung her legs.

She hated him. Hated his stupid hat and his charming smile and his....his _vampire-ness_. She’d told him so every day for at least two weeks, and he seemed not to care. She’d tried to run away, draining the guards enough to make them tired and sprinting up the stairs and out the front door, but she found herself in a part of New Orleans that she wasn’t familiar with, and Thierry had found her within seconds, picking her up and bringing her back, her attempts to drain him completely useless.

They’d taken her from the room and put her in an underground cell for a week instead. As someone who was used to homecooked meals, an actual shower, and a closet full of clean clothes, she was _not_ a fan. She’d promised to behave and had promptly gotten the room back.

Just because she was on her best behavior didn’t mean she had to like him.

He was watching her with calculating eyes as she ate, and once she’d eaten enough tuna to be polite she covered the plate and held it out for him to put on the table nearby.

“Can you answer my question?” she prodded, tilting her head to the side, and he gave her that stupid smile again.

“Sometimes people betray me, and I need to keep them in line somehow. I’ve just been killing them, but I think people are getting bored of watching me rip out hearts. What’s a punishment without a little mystery? People disappearing never to be seen again is so much more effective.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to fight the betrayers for me, Caroline.”

“What do you mean ‘fight them’?” she asked, foreboding filling her gut.

“I mean that I’ll bring them to you and you’ll drain them. It’ll be fun. Like a game.”

“You want me to drain the people you bring to me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to let them win.”

“You can’t make me,” she said. “I’ll run. I’ll...I’ll drain you.”

“No you won’t, but you can take your anger out on the vampire you’ll drain. How about that?”

“A vampire?” Caroline asked.

“Yes. He killed an entire family. Three kids and their parents.”

She could tell that Thierry knew he’d hit a nerve, that he’d tempted her. She hated vampires, and she didn’t want the... the _thing_ to get away with taking someone’s life away. It was wrong to kill people, but... Was a vampire really a person anyway?

“Are you ready?”

She shook her head, her fingers curling into the sheets, and Thierry sighed. “Come on, Caroline. We both know that you’ll have to whether you like it or not. As I said, you can always let them win.”

Caroline’s heart was pounding. She didn’t want to die.

“You should get a jacket. It’s chilly out,” Thierry said, getting up and walking to the door.

 

* * *

Caroline stared at the ceiling of her bedroom, trying to ignore that time was ticking and she’d have to get up for her next fight soon. Sierra, her usual guard, had told her the night before that she’d come at nine o’clock, and to please be ready.

It was 8:55 and she was still in bed with no intention to get up until she absolutely had to.

It was her fifth year in the cage. Well, technically it was a room. Quite a nice one, really. The bathroom was well-furnished, and she had a bed and a television. No computers or phones, and _definitely_ no internet, but she could keep up with the news on the radio or TV, and Thierry would get her any movies and books that she wanted. Over the years she’d learned that the better she behaved, the more she got little ‘presents’: magazines to pick out clothes from, new furniture, games...

Not that she was getting too comfortable. She still planned to escape but was biding her time. It was just a matter of getting Thierry to trust her enough to give her the opportunity. She had not forgiven him for killing her entire extended family, and she knew she never would, even though she pretended to be won over by presents and the smallest of kindnesses.

She heard a knock on the door. “Come in,” she called.

The locks scraped as they opened, and a guard entered. “It’s time.”

“Okay. What did they do?”

“It’s a witch. She performed magic without permission.”

“Right,” Caroline muttered, feeling her throat constrict as she thought of her mother’s lifeless body, her heart a bloody pulp on their hardwood floor.

Caroline pushed the covers away from her bed and sat up. “Okay. Let me just change my clothes.”

Sierra nodded agreeably, having had the ‘you’re about to fight to the death, why do you care what you wear’ argument often enough that she didn’t bother anymore.

Caroline dressed as slowly as possible without being obvious, trying to fight down the guilt that always emerged when she was about to fight. She was a prisoner, after all. A weapon. The only time she was allowed outside her cage was when they had to use her. When she had dawdled long enough that Sierra pointedly checked the time on her phone, Caroline sped up her routine.

Sierra led her downstairs and out the back door to the gardens before they descended another set of stairs to the underground arena. It wasn’t large, probably about the size of a tennis court, and there was a magical barrier around the area to protect Thierry and the occasional friend who watched the fights for fun. She couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the theatrics of it as she watched him saunter in, sinking down on his chair and propping his feet up on the railing to watch the spectacle.

_Asshole._

If you betrayed Thierry, you went to the pit, and if you wanted your freedom, you had to fight to the death. She’d learned through eavesdropping that very few people actually knew that the mysterious creature in the pit was even a person, mostly because Thierry didn’t do trust and no one who fought her lived to tell the tale.

She’d killed 244 people so far and all of them haunted her dreams, their desiccating faces imprinted on the backs of her eyelids.

Caroline lingered in the lobby until the latest person Thierry felt had wronged him walked into the arena. Caroline vaguely recognized her as one of the ancestral witches she’d met in passing once or twice before she’d been confined to Thierry’s dungeons. Jan, maybe?

“Jane-Anne, you’ve used magic in the city without permission,” Thierry was saying, his voice much too happy for the occasion. “You know the rules.”

“Yes. I have to kill your pet.”

Caroline stiffened. _Pet?!_ This bitch was going down.

“Now, that’s not very polite,” Thierry said, and Caroline wrinkled her nose.

Ugh, she hated it when they agreed on things. Murdering jerk.

Not that she was any better, but she didn’t kill for fun. She killed to stay alive. Usually she could justify it when they were vampires, because those prisoners were almost always convicted for murder.

But a witch...

It was harder when she had to kill her own people.

“Caroline? Are you ready?”

She swallowed, putting on a brave face, and pushed through the door.

_What would her mother think if she could see her now?_

“Go.”

They both stood there silently, Caroline with her arms crossed over her chest as she waited for the other woman to make a move. Jane-Anne seemed to be assessing her, clearly wondering what she was. Caroline had noticed that over time the betrayers had begun to take her more seriously, though she wasn’t sure if it was because no one ever returned from a fight or because they didn’t walk in to see a twelve-year-old anymore. Jane-Anne was clearly surprised that she was fighting another person, but she quickly recovered, lifted her hands, and started chanting.

Caroline waited for the spell to hit, spreading her arms to absorb the power before letting it rebound, knocking Jane-Anne to the ground. Walking over, she bent to grab the woman’s hand, and though she struggled, Caroline just held on more tightly. Caroline could feel Jane-Anne dying, and she bent down to let the other woman lie on the ground. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, avoiding the other woman’s gaze.

She hated watching the light vanish in her victims’ eyes.

Caroline stood back up, clearing her throat and trying to shove her weakness away. She never let Thierry see her cry. “Can I go now?”

“Of course, kiddo.”

God, she _hated_ him.

She walked to her side of the arena to exit, trying to ignore the nausea hitting her in the gut.

245.

She followed Sierra back to her room and flopped back on her bed, listening as the guard refastened the locks and the door chain. She tried to calm down, to force away the guilt that ate at her after every kill, and she flinched when she heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” she called, though she already knew.

“I’m here to see my favorite girl,” Thierry said through the door, and Caroline wanted to scream.

Instead, she wiped her eyes and sat up, sitting crosslegged on the bed. “Come in.”

Thierry entered, closing the door gently behind him, his hands clasped behind his back as he practically bounced on the balls of his feet. “How are you?”

“I don’t like killing people,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

She wanted to throttle him, to _hurt_ him, and she couldn’t do that right now. She had to remain calm. He had to think she was content, at least.

“I know,” he said, boosting himself to sit on her dining table. “But people have to know not to cross me.”

“I don’t understand why I can’t go outside,” she muttered, though she knew it was loud enough that he’d heard.

“Because it’s too dangerous.”

“For me or for you?” she shot back, and he gave her a glinting smile.

“Are we getting a bit too comfortable, Caroline?”

“No,” she said. “I’m just lonely, I guess.”

“I understand, you know,” he said, and she nearly groaned, not wanting to hear another retelling of his life story. “After Marcel died and I took over New Orleans, it was hard to trust anyone. I couldn’t let my guard down, and it was hard to make friends.”

“At least you could try,” Caroline said grumpily, and Thierry laughed quietly.

“It was a bit more complicated than that.”

She shrugged, fiddling with a loose thread on her blanket, and he watched with perceptive eyes. “I know you hate me, Caroline, but it could be so much worse.”

She knew that Marcel had basically been Thierry’s family, and that in his eyes, he had been just as much a victim as she had. They’d both lost people they’d loved...

 _Explain, not excuse_ . She repeated to herself. _Stockholm syndrome is bad, Caroline._

She’d heard the term on TV once and asked her tutor about it, and she had been surprisingly forthcoming with the definition. Sometimes Caroline wondered whether all of Thierry’s followers were just as trapped as she was.

Thierry left, closing the door gently behind him, and Caroline flopped back onto the bed, trying to fight away the daydreams she had since she’d gotten there of someone coming to rescue her.

It wasn’t like anyone cared or knew about her. Everyone she’d known when she was a child thought she’d died when her mother did (or, at least, that was what she was told by Thierry). Unless some sort of unexpected miracle happened, she’d have to rescue herself.

She rolled over to take her journal out of the side table, opening it and reading over her elaborately coded escape plan. She did it whenever everything got to be too much, needing to remind herself that there was a way out. All she had to do was wait for the right opportunity.

 

* * *

At first she thought the screaming was a dream.

She had them occasionally, the nightmares. There were ones where she watched the bloody corpses of her victims piling up and dragging her down within the pile, unable to forget a single face. Worse were the imagined memories of her coven being tortured and ripped apart, of how the light must have left her mother’s eyes when Thierry had murdered her so cruelly.

She wondered if he was torturing someone. Sometimes he needed information, and before he forced Caroline to kill them, he’d torture them for hours, interrogating them, and from her glorified dungeon room in the basement she heard every moment of it. She was sorely tempted to shove her pillow over her head to block it out, but as she listened more closely, she realized that there was more than one scream, a snarling accented voice she’d never heard before, and the thumps of heavy things hitting the floor.

Corpses?

She stirred in her bed, trying to figure out what was going on, and she heard Thierry shout something about innocence before the crack of a snapped neck echoed in the stone hallway outside. It was silent then except for the sound of footsteps fading, and she waited for a few seconds before hesitantly getting out of bed.

Was this her opportunity to escape?

Her door wasn’t locked with magic. It had a keypad combination, two manual locks, and a door chain, so it would be difficult to escape without something to smash the door with, which would draw too much attention. Still, what other choice did she have when this was the best chance to run that she’d ever had?

She surveyed all of the objects in her room before grabbing the lamp, which seemed like the sturdiest option, and beginning to bang on the door as hard as she could.

She’d only hit it a few times when the door suddenly fell off its hinges in her direction and she screamed, throwing herself to the side. When she looked up, she saw an unquestionably hot guy standing in the doorway, looking somewhere about halfway between murderous and genuinely mystified by her presence. “Hello there, love.”

“Hi...?” she half-asked.

“May I ask why you were trapped in a bedroom?”

“I...um...” Something told her she probably shouldn’t tell him why she was _actually_ there. If Thierry’s prison had taught her anything, it was that her powers should be kept a secret. People wanted to use her, and this man seemed to radiate danger. She didn’t particularly want to go from one prison to another. “I’m a witch.”

“You sound a bit unsure of that. Let’s try again, love. The truth this time.”

“I’m a witch,” she insisted. “Thierry kidnapped me. I’ve been locked here for years.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Existing,” she muttered, glaring at the wall.

“Just kidnapped you for no reason?”

She shrugged, not answering.

“Well, it’s a very pretty dungeon, sweetheart.”

“Who are you?” she asked, deciding to change the subject before he could prod too much.

“My name is Klaus,” he said with a dimpled grin.

This was clearly supposed to mean something to her, but she wasn’t sure why, so she just stood and walked to him, holding out a hand. “I’m Caroline. It’s nice to meet you.”

He looked perplexed by her reaction for a moment before taking her hand in his, and she felt the oddest combination of sickly cold vampire combined with the earthy natural feeling of a werewolf, as if he was somehow both. He brought her knuckles to his lips, looking at her with perceptive eyes. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he he kissed her hand, holding eye contact, though the effect was broken when he spoke. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Caroline.”

The way her name rolled off of his tongue should have been illegal.

“What are you?” she asked, careful to keep her tone curious rather than suspicious.

“I’m the Original Hybrid.”

Again, clearly supposed to mean something. Still absolutely meaningless to her.

“...Right. Okay. Did you kill Thierry?” she asked, trying to peek around him to see the hallway.

“No.”

“Oh,” she said, not bothering to try to hide her disappointment.

“I take it you’re not a fan?” he asked dryly.

“He killed my mom and locked me in his basement for five years, so no. I am not a fan.”

Klaus’s lips twitched. “I see. Well, sweetheart, if it makes you feel any better, he’s temporarily incapacitated.”

“Are you going to torture him?”

“Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Only for his,” she said, tossing her hair. “He’s not coming back is he?”

“No. I’ll be taking him with me.”

“Why?”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment before he spoke. “You ask a lot of questions,” he said, his voice light.

“Yeah, but you’re not really answering them.”

“I’m not required to.”

Caroline shrugged. “I guess. Anyway, can I go? I’d like to go outside without being on the way to a magical gladiator spectacle, so anytime you want to move...”

“A magical gladiator spectacle?” Klaus asked, suddenly a lot more alert, and he took a step towards her, his hand reaching to cup her cheek, turning her face to look at him.

She flinched. “Don’t touch me,” she said, jerking away from him, her voice deceptively mild.

He withdrew, his eyes narrowed. “It’s my turn to ask the questions, I think. What were you to Thierry? Were you the weapon they’ve spoken of? The mysterious creature that all betrayers fight and none return from?”

She froze, her instincts telling her to _run_ , but she had no way out. She stayed silent, and he invaded her personal space again, his head cocked to the side. “Tell me,” he said, and she expected the pull of compulsion, but he seemed to just be searching her gaze, and she wasn’t sure what he was looking for.

She felt her knees go weak at his proximity though, butterflies erupting in her stomach, and her breath caught as he stared at her.

The only men she’d really come into contact with were Thierry, some of the guards, and the ones she killed. She couldn’t help but be curious about him, the way he was making her skin tighten as her veins burned, the flush that was building in her cheeks. Klaus smelled good, like fresh earth and grass and spice, and she liked the way his clothes fell on him, the dimples when he smiled. She somehow knew that he was completely aware of how he was making her feel, and she didn’t like it. She flushed, swallowing and taking a step back, looking away so that she didn’t have to see the smug sparkle in his eyes.

“I’m not a creature,” she said, gathering herself enough to stare back at him, giving him her best stink eye. “I was a prisoner, and I want you to let me go so that I can leave.”

“I want to know what you are first, sweetheart.”

She gritted her teeth, impatient to push past him and escape to the real world, needing to feel the air around her, to see the people. Hoping to incapacitate him long enough to run, she reached for his arm, locking her fingers around it.

His skin was a warm heat under her hand, his power intoxicating, addictive, _delicious_ , and she was surprised when he simply pried her hand away, a mildly surprised look on his face. “A siphoner. Well, that’s an interesting development, isn’t it?”

She stared at him in disbelief. She’d drained him for a good three full seconds, and he didn’t even seem the least bit tired.

“I think you’ll come with me.”

“Um, no?” she half-asked. “I’m not leaving this prison for another one. No offense, but you seem like the kind of person who likes killing people, and I’ve had enough of that.”

He smiled slightly, tilting his head to the side as he stared at her. The greedy way he eyed her made something twist in her lower belly, her breath hitching. “Fine. You’re free to go. All I ask in return is one small favor.”

“What is it?”

“To be determined.”

“What? No! I’m not agreeing to something like that.”

“I could just leave you here, you know. Lock you up and let you starve...”

She gritted her teeth, the idea of truly rotting away in a prison practically kicking her in the stomach. “Fine. One favor,” she said.

He gave her a dimpled grin, his eyes sparkling, and he reached to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, the movement strangely predatory and unnerving for such a light touch. “Excellent. It’s a deal then, love.”

He flashed away before she could blink, the curtains rustling slightly from the movement. She took a deep breath, trying to recover from what had just happened, confused at her reactions and his behavior. Who was he, anyway?

She could sense danger, adventure, _excitement_ , but nothing about what he was. Knowing that she had no clue what she’d agreed to made her skin crawl, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe her luck at being released. She was almost expecting someone to jump out from behind a corner and haul her back to her room, but no one ever showed up.

As she wandered around the house for the first time, she saw the corpses of the guards that had kept her captive. She felt a slight pang of sympathy, knowing that they were prisoners to Thierry’s will, just as she had been, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to mourn them.

She approached the front door, swallowing, her heart pounding in her chest, and she squinted in the sunlight when she opened it. It was so bright and loud and _perfect_ , and she couldn’t help but feel the energy coursing through her, the need for adventure burning in her veins.

But she didn’t quite know what to do first, or where to go.

She glanced back at the foyer of the house, deciding that it would be best to prepare. If she was going to leave, she should at least have supplies. She spent the rest of the day methodically going from room to room and gathering anything from the house that looked valuable or helpful, as well as searching the possessions of any of the dead guards, eventually finding some cash, credit cards, and keys to the house.

She felt a bit like a magpie when she was finally done, her room almost like a warehouse of reasonably expensive-looking items, and she wasn’t sure how to proceed from there. Where could she sell things? How would she transport them?

She picked up one of the five laptop computers she’d stolen and opened it, frowning at the keys before hesitantly pressing one and watching as the screen lit up. She knew the basics of how to use one from television, and quickly caught on as she began to plan.

The morning after the guards had been killed and Thierry had been taken, she heard the doorbell ring. She was nervous, wondering who it could possibly be, but when she peeked out of the curtains in the front, she didn’t see anyone. All she saw was a box.

Confused, she tentatively opened the door and picked the package up, noticing the card attached to it and picking it up to read the short message.

 

_My number is already programmed in. I’ll be in touch._

__\- K_ _

 

 

She opened it to see one of the newer cell phones (she recognized it from commercials). It bothered her a bit that Klaus had clearly bought it for her, but she still turned it over in her hands, examining it, and eagerly read the manual.

After all, it would be rude to turn down a gift.

It took a few months to make a plan and execute it, but she managed to sell the house for an exorbitant price, stick everything that she didn’t think was immediately valuable in storage, and take off to the nearest airport, the wind whipping through her hair through the open windows. Sure, she’d had a few close calls with the car so far, but no one had gotten hurt or anything...

She wasn’t sure where she was going yet, but she had lists upon lists in the journal stuffed at the top of her suitcase in the back. Things that she wanted to do, places she wanted to go... She could hardly believe it, that she was on her way to explore the world.

She was free.


	3. Just a Little Taste

* * *

_"So come on give me a taste_   
_Of what it’s like to be next to you"_

_~ Selena Gomez, "Hands to Myself"_

* * *

 

He cashed in five years later.

She yawned as her phone rang, reaching over the other body in the bed to pick up the phone, frowning at the unknown number. “Hello?”

“Hello, love.”

She froze, her eyes widening. It had been so long since she’d heard that voice, and they’d spoken for barely minutes, yet he’d haunted her dreams nonetheless. Sometimes it was in nightmares, his eyes flashing yellow as he called in his favor to slaughter entire villages, a smile in his voice as he told her to kill. He also occasionally surfaced in more pleasurable dreams, her memories of the sex that practically oozed from every movement he made making her wet. She’d wondered before how his tongue would feel between her thighs, how wicked his voice would sound as he whispered in her ear...

But they were just fantasies, harmless, really. She barely knew him, but later she’d managed to find out who he was, and in retrospect she’d gotten off so easy.

Klaus Mikaelson, the Original Hybrid, had let one of the most powerful siphoners in the world leave him for a simple favor. It still baffled her, but she couldn’t complain. She’d been wondering what the favor would be, and as time passed she started to feel sure that he’d forgotten about their bargain.

Clearly she’d been wrong.

“Klaus,” she said quietly. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a little favor.”

“I gathered that much,” she said, trying not to sound too grumpy. “What do you need?”

“You’ll see.”

She huffed, moving into a more comfortable position, and her companion made a sound of annoyance, his arm slinging around her to pull her closer, which she most definitely did not appreciate.

One-night stands could be so clingy.

“I’d like a little more information before I say yes.”

“I do recall that you previously agreed to help, and I’ll give you more information when you arrive. I’ve sent a jet for you, which will wait at the airport for the afternoon. Please do gather your belongings and text me when you’re ready to leave. I’ll send an escort.”

She huffed, mumbling a goodbye and hanging up before pulling herself out of bed. She was glad she’d chosen to go to this guy’s place rather than bringing him to hers, and she disentangled herself as gently as she could, dressing and gathering her belongings before leaving the apartment building.

An odd mix of fear and excitement churned in her gut. There wasn’t much that Klaus could want from her specifically, and though she’d gone through lists of possible scenarios over and over, she couldn’t help but do it again.

She packed, locking the door to her apartment behind her, and texted Klaus to let him know that she was ready. A car pulled up less than a minute later, and she had a feeling that it had been lingering around the corner just in case she tried to run. Why he thought she ever would, she had no idea. She’d heard through the supernatural grapevine that Klaus tended to be pretty violent when someone backed out of a deal with him, and she had no desire to be one of his victims.

A man dressed in a suit got out of the car, the trunk clicking open. “Caroline?”

“That’s me.”

“May I take your luggage?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He held open the car door for her.

* * *

 

When she arrived, she was escorted into an office by a vampire, who offered her a drink before leaving her alone to wait. It wasn’t long before Klaus entered, sinking down in the chair behind the desk and staring at her with a piercing gaze that made her shift in her seat.

She’d been around the block a few times now, and was much more aware of how he was looking at her, like he wanted nothing more than to _devour_ her. She felt her skin heat, her stomach twist in anticipation, and she pressed her thighs together to ward off the unwelcome burn in her lower belly.

He dripped danger and want and _power_ and she could practically feel the sizzle of it against her skin, the intoxicating rush it had given her when they’d first met.

She _hated_ herself for wanting it, but she couldn’t help the instinctive twitch of her hand as she fought the urge to reach out and _take._

“Hello, Caroline.”

Even the lilt of his voice sent shivers down her spine, but she forced her face to stay impassive, her posture stiff. “Klaus.”

“How have you been?”

“Just fine. You?” she asked, trying to figure out when they’d progressed to what she suspected was pre-murder small talk.

“I was doing quite well, but I’ve suddenly found myself with a bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?”

“An...associate of mine has been killed, and in order to resurrect him, a ritual must be performed to open the veil to the Other Side. It can be quite taxing on the witch because of the length of time the barrier must be held down and the sheer power it requires. Normally I’d simply have an entire coven do it together, but it’s much more difficult to make multiple witches cooperate than to ask one who owes a favor.”

Caroline understood. Theoretically, if she had a constant power source she could use the magic for as long as the source could provide it. With a traditional witch, even a powerful one, you’d have the spell up for mere minutes before they broke from the strain. If Klaus was willing to let her drain him, she could keep the spell up for hours.

“Who’s the associate?”

“You still ask a lot of questions, love.”

“And you still don’t answer,” she shot back.

“Be careful, love. Wouldn’t want to poke around where you don’t belong.”

“Well if that’s your attitude, maybe you shouldn’t try to ‘poke around’ the Other Side,” she muttered. “I’ve tried before, you know. To make contact, to get my mother back. It didn’t work. She’d moved on already. Apparently watching the world function around you with no way to interact with anyone drives you insane after long enough. It’s like solitary confinement. If your ‘associate’ has any understanding of what that was like, they would have moved on.”

Klaus tilted his head to the side, clearly considering his response. His posture was stiff as if he was irritated, but there was a spark of intrigue in his eye and she knew she’d impressed him somehow.

“My brother was already quite insane before he was murdered.”

“Your brother was murdered? Aren’t you Originals? Doesn’t that mean you can’t be killed?”

“ _I_ can’t be killed. My siblings did not receive the benefit from my birth father’s werewolf gene,” he said quietly, the unspoken truth of his roots lingering between them. “You of all people should understand the desire to protect family.”

He held her gaze with his until she looked away, growing uncomfortable with how he’d opened up to her.

“Fine. I’ll help,” she said quietly. “When are we doing it?”

His face fell back into a grin that could have passed for a mood swing or even a sign that he’d opened up simply to manipulate her. However, she couldn’t help but notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way his shoulders tightened. He clearly hadn’t meant to be so open with her.

“As soon as you can learn the ritual. The next celestial event is the full moon this Sunday. Will that be enough time?”

“Yeah. I think so,” Caroline said. “As long as you can get me the grimoire. I’ll need to study it.”

“That won’t be a problem, love. Anything else?”

She swallowed, knowing that there was another thing they needed to clear up, and her center throbbed unexpectedly at the idea of it. She felt irritability and embarrassment shoot through her as he looked at her with knowing eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. “You should know that siphoning requires skin-to-skin contact,” she said, her voice thankfully even and detached. “Do you know if I need to actively work with reagents?”

 _Please say no_ , she prayed, hoping she’d have her hands free to hold his rather than any other option to drain power. Siphoning could become surprisingly intimate, the mingling of life forces euphoric and addictive, and Klaus’s power had been the sweetest she’d ever taken, the magic pulsing like fresh air in her lungs.

“Afraid so, love.”

He looked so smug, so fucking _pleased_ with himself, and she hated how his clear lust for her made her feel, how she burned for his touch, for just a _taste_ of his magic.

“I want to put my stuff away before I start looking at the spell. Where’s my hotel?”

“I’ve actually had a room prepared for you here. Down the hall and to the left. Towels are set in the cupboard above the sink, if you’d like to freshen up. Do not hesitate to tell me should there be something else you require.”

“Okay. Bye,” she said, standing up.

She’d only taken a step towards the door when he spoke again. “I’ll be in the library with the grimoire, love. Just come whenever you’re ready.”

His words dripped with double-meaning, and she was determined not to react like a flustered schoolgirl. After she helped with the spell, she’d never have to see him again, she reminded herself.

“I’ll be there in an hour or so.”

“Looking forward to seeing you, then.”

She flounced out the door before she could give into the temptation to say something incredibly rude.

* * *

 

Caroline fidgeted as she felt Klaus move closer, peering over her shoulder. His scent was intoxicating, the magic underneath his skin tempting her to touch. She shivered as she felt his breath, hot on her ear, and she had to stop herself from leaning further into him. “I need a break,” she said abruptly, standing up, and he pulled back, gesturing almost mockingly at the door.

“Fine. Do try not to drain the help, no matter how vexing you find their presence.”

She frowned, wondering why he’d say something like that, but couldn’t resist answering. “ _The help?!_ God, I’m sure working for you is even more agonizing than being drained to death.”

“Careful, love—”

“Wouldn’t want to upset me,” Caroline finished for him, her imitation of his accent as atrocious as she could manage.

He seemed torn between irritation and amusement, waving her off and muttering something she couldn’t quite make out.

She walked out of the library, wandering the house until she found the sliding door that led to the gardens. It was beautiful, the flowers vibrant and sweet-smelling. She was so lost in the connection she felt with the nature around her that she froze in surprise when she heard a familiar laugh at the edge of the garden, the memories slamming into her like a punch to the stomach.

Gleaming white smiles in response to her glares. Deep laughs as she ripped someone’s life from their body. Curling handwriting on heavy paper that she’d come to dread, no matter what gift was attached.

Her mother dead on the floor.

She snarled, her heart beating fast in her chest, and she practically flew across the garden. Thierry. He looked faintly surprised when he set eyes on her before smiling, a reminder of how evil could fester so easily in attractive packaging.

“Hey, kiddo.”

She launched herself at him, unable to think of anything but how _helpless_ and _small_ she’d felt, how _alone_ she’d been, how he’d taken everything from her...

Her hands wrapped around his neck, and she gritted her teeth as she absorbed him, his energy cold and sick and _wrong_.

He was paling, greying, veins creeping up his cheeks before he fell limp. She tightened her grip, feeling the last dregs of his life funneling into her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to stop. She felt a prickle on her neck, had the distinct feeling someone was watching, but she kept _pulling._

She found her hands being pried from Thierry’s neck, the grip gentle but firm.

“Easy, sweetheart. Breathe. He’s dead.”

Klaus’s voice was soft, coaxing, his calloused palms strangely soothing against her skin, and she took a shaky breath, letting him pull her away from Thierry’s corpse. She looked around, a bit surprised to see the destroyed gardens where there had previously been lush green, the flowers crinkled, the petals peeling off into sad shreds against the dry grass.

“Quite the show, love,” Klaus muttered in her ear, his chest still pressed to her back.

“I hate him,” she whispered.

He let her go, the lack of touch leaving her cold. “I know.”

She turned to face him, her breath catching when her eyes met his. They were gold and swirling, his body tense, and she could feel the want rolling off of him in waves, could tell that watching her choke a man to death had turned him on.

She should be disgusted, she knew, but somehow she wasn’t. She felt desirable, sexy, _wanted_ , and she felt desire pulse between her thighs as he licked his lips, the movement reminding her of a predator about to pounce.

“We should get back to the spell,” she said, her voice shaking, and his face cleared.

“We should.”

Neither of them moved.

Her shaking breaths were the only sound in the still air, and her fingers twitched as she ached to drain him, to get some relief for the longing she felt. She swallowed.

If she could just hold out a few more days, she’d be free to go soon, would never have to see him again.

She wasn’t sure whether or not that made her even more tempted to succumb.

Klaus was still drinking her in, his head tilted to the side, and she turned on her heel, stalking back to the library, her heart pounding.

She wanted to tell herself that she didn’t know why she was so opposed to giving in, but a tiny voice in her head reminded her of her worries. If she let herself touch him, _taste him_ , would she be able to rip herself away?

She wasn’t sure.

 

* * *

“All ready, sweetheart?”

Caroline looked up from her laptop to see Klaus leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. I guess,” she said, setting the computer on the side table and sitting up, stretching.

Klaus’s eyes roved over her tight jeans and floral blouse as she swung out of bed, pulling on socks and boots, and she tried to ignore him, grabbing her purse which held the reagents she needed for the spell. They made their way to the gardens where she’d prepared the ritual site the night before, the salt still arranged in a perfect circle. She carefully arranged the reagents in order of use, double-checking to make sure that they were correct before consulting the clock on her phone. “We have about five minutes,” she said. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

She looked up as she said it, and her mouth went dry.

He’d stripped off his shirt, and she could see the tattoo inked on his shoulder, as well as the leather cords that she longed to tangle her fingers in dangling from around his neck.

She swallowed, licking her dry lips. “Stripping isn’t really necessary, FYI,” she said, her tone passably confident, and he grinned.

“It certainly makes it easier.”

She scowled, her heart pounding in her chest. He could just as easily have placed his hands on her waist while she performed the ritual, and she suspected he knew it. His eyes held a spark of mischief, as though he was expecting her to voice the suggestion that was on the tip of her tongue, _daring_ her to back out of the challenge he’d just issued.

Her eyes narrowed. Fine, then. If he wanted to play it like that.

She pulled her blouse off in one smooth movement, dropping it to the ground. He seemed surprised that she’d responded the way she had, but a smirk quickly stretched across his face before dropping abruptly when she spoke, her tone businesslike. “I’ve learned from experience that it can be hard to focus if the person I’m channeling from touches me in erogenous zones, so if you want your brother back, it’d probably be best if you keep your hands on my hips. Your chest against my back should be fine.”

His eyes flashed. “From experience?” he repeated, his voice soft, almost dangerous.

She wondered what it said about him that she wasn’t at all surprised that he was jealous (or what it said about her that she found it kind of hot), but she couldn’t resist baiting him just a little more.

“Did you seriously think you’re the only guy I’ve ever channeled?” she asked, holding his gaze as she took a step towards him, resting her palm against his chest. She didn’t siphon, not yet, but she let the mix of their magic pulse against his skin, and she felt strangely hot in the cool night air as his eyes darkened before flashing gold.

“It’s intimate, siphoning someone’s life-force, at least when you’re not aiming to kill. Your magic tangles and your skin slides against theirs...” she let her fingers skate down his abdomen just a bit, the heel of her palm grazing his nipple, a groan rumbling deep in his throat. She’d expected his gaze to linger on her breasts, but they locked on her eyes instead, and her breath caught as he stared, his eyes glowing gold in the moonlight.

“Turn. We’d best get started.”

“Don’t order me around,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, and his lips curled in a smile.

“Apologies, sweetheart. Whenever you’re ready,” his voice was on the edge of mocking, but she didn’t call him on it, simply turning away from him to face the circle.

She felt his chest press against her back, the flimsy lace-band of her bra the only semblance of a barrier between them. She shivered as he pressed his hands to her hips, keeping her body pressed against his, and she could have sworn he was inhaling her scent, a sound of contentment rumbling in his chest.

She took a deep breath before tugging at his energy, his magic curling against her skin, tendrils stroking gently against the magnetic pull. The feel of him was intoxicating, the heady sensation of his power bubbling through her causing the wind to whip around her, the magic crackling at her fingertips. She reached for the bowl containing the crushed orchids and began chanting as she picked some up in her hand, the petals rising slowly into the air, floating above her hand in a swirling sphere before falling in a perfect circle on the salt she’d already spread. She snapped her fingers to light the trail, the orchids burning sweetly in the flame.

Klaus’s energy was still flowing in a steady stream against her skin, her nipples stiffening, heat pooling in her lower belly at the sensation of it. She heard him groan softly as he ground his rapidly hardening cock against her ass, his hands moving up to stroke her stomach.

She swallowed, trying to concentrate on chanting the ritual spell, the wind picking up, flames rising. Her heart was pounding as Klaus’s thumbs traced her ribs, and she leaned into him, rubbing her ass against bulge in his jeans, fruitlessly seeking friction to ease the ache between her thighs. She shifted again, her back arching to get just a brush of lace against her sensitive nipples, her entire body naturally pressing against his as she sought skin-to-skin contact, needing the addictive flow of his magic into her veins.

She heard the howling of wind and gathered her power, chanting faster. The pulse of the magic around her crackled on her skin as she fought to tear open the dimension to the Other Side, Klaus’ thumb making small circles against the skin of her stomach. A crack of displaced air sounded as she finished the spell, the flames abruptly dying. There was a man in the middle of the circle, tall and clearly muscled with a hint of a smirk curling his lips.

“Well, that was quite the show you and your lady friend put on, brother. Tasty little thing, isn’t she?”

Caroline growled, her back arching against Klaus’s chest as she started siphoning again, the wind picking up around them as she ripped a tree from the ground with her magic, roots and all, letting it fall with a crash less than a foot from Klaus’s brother’s shoe.

“Talk about me like that again and I won’t miss.”

She saw a flash of a wicked smile before the man was in front of her, bringing her knuckles to his lips with a wink. “Pleasure to meet you, darling. I’m Kol.”

She felt Klaus’s hands tighten on her waist as though he thought Kol would rip her away. She shoved Kol off of her and pulled Klaus’s wrists away from her waist before stalking off, the cool night wind prickling at her skin in the absence of Klaus’s warmth.

She wasn’t even to her room when Klaus caught up to her, his palm hot against her lower back. She grabbed his wrist, gently pushing him away. Every inch of her craved him, arousal humming between her thighs, but she knew getting caught up in him would be a terrible idea. Klaus was possessive and did not take kindly to people leaving him. She’d spent five years in a prison already, and she had no desire to return to one.

“Shouldn’t you be spending time with your newly-resurrected brother?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he said, and she snorted.

“Well, you’re welcome. My favor is paid. Anyway, the spell took a lot out of me and I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.”

It was a bold-faced lie and they both knew it. Energy was pulsing beneath her skin, desire and adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she’d never craved someone’s touch so much in her life.

“And here I thought the night was going so well.”

She grimaced at the knowing smirk pulling at his lips, her eyes darting toward her bedroom door. “I’m tired,” she repeated, her pussy throbbing as he tilted his head to the side, staring at her.

He took a step towards her and she held her ground, though her lips parted slightly, her breathing growing heavy. She wanted him so much, knew he could smell her arousal, could see the way he eyed her like he’d never get another chance to look. He continued to advance, his steps predatory, backing her up against the wall. Her hands landed on his shoulders almost automatically, giving away the true extent of her temptation, and her thumb traced the edge of his tattoo as she felt him grind the bulge in his jeans against her hip.

“Tell me you don’t want to and I’ll stop,” Klaus whispered, the tip of his nose brushing her ear, making a soft whimper escape her. “But you don’t want me to stop, sweetheart, do you?”


	4. Say It Like You Mean It

* * *

_"_ _Won't let one drop go to waste"  
You're metaphorical gin and juice"_

_~ Selena Gomez, "Hands to Myself"_

* * *

 

“Klaus,” she breathed, letting her head tip back against the wall as he set his hands on her hips, his thumbs brushing the skin just over the waistband of her jeans. His lips pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, her nails digging into his skin, and she moaned as he slotted a thigh between her legs, rolling her hips against it to get some friction. “Please.”

“Please stop?” he asked, and she could feel his smirk against the skin of her neck before he began to pull away.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed.

“What was that?”

He sounded so smugly satisfied with himself that she almost wanted to tell him to leave, but the insistent thrum between her thighs, the way her skin _burned_ for him, made her unable to pull away. “Don’t stop,” she said, more clearly this time. “Please.”

She heard him chuckle, tipped her head to the side to give him better access as he scraped his blunt teeth along her neck, his hands squeezing her hips lightly. “If you insist.”

_Jerk._

“More,” she said quietly, her eyelids fluttering closed as he dragged his tongue up the hollow of her throat before nipping her ear harshly, her breath catching at the throb of need the sharp pain had sent to the apex of her thighs.

“More? What do you want me to do to you, Caroline? What have you fantasized about in that pretty head of yours?”

“Your hands,” she admitted after only the slightest hesitation. “Your fingers, really. I want them curved inside of me.”

“ _My_ hands?” he asked, amusement clear in his tone, and she felt her cheeks burn as she belatedly realized he’d meant her fantasies in general. “Do tell me more, sweetheart. I’d love to hear what sinful things you have me do in your most private thoughts.”

She shook her head, not wanting to embarrass herself further. He began to suck a mark on her neck, teeth nipping between deliciously wet strokes of his tongue, and he gave a satisfied hum as her lips parted with a soft sigh. “I think of you as well, you know,” he mumbled against her neck. “You’ve somehow become the most frequent presence in my thoughts when I need to find release. I’ve imagined you in almost every possible position or scenario, Caroline. I’m greedy for the image of you spread across my sheets, naked and writhing from my touch, for the sight of you bent over with your legs spread wide for my cock, your knuckles white as you fight to stay upright, too overcome with the haze of your high to support yourself.”

The way he spoke made her pussy throb almost painfully, and she knew how wet she was, how _empty_ she felt. She gasped as he snuck the tip of a finger under the wire of her bra, his nail scraping against the undercurve of her breast in a way that made her knees buckle, her own nails digging into his shoulders for support, the tendrils of his magic curling around her fingertips.

His breathing was shaky for a just a moment as she drained him before his hand settled on her ass, squeezing gently. “Tell me, Caroline: How do you want me to touch you?”

“I told you,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as he curled a finger around a belt loop and gave the fabric a sharp tug, making it rub against her pussy.

“Tell me more. What else can I do to coax those delightful little sounds from your lips? I promise that before the night is over you’ll have come around my fingers, but I want to know what else you’ve been thinking of,” he said before nipping her ear.

“Fuck,” she hissed, rolling her hips against his thigh, moaning at the sensation of the rough fabric rubbing against her sensitive skin. It wasn’t quite enough though. Frustrated by the lack of friction, she tangled his hair between her fingers, tugging harshly, eliciting a low groan in his throat as he pulled away.

“Shall I make another guess? Do you like it rough, sweetheart? Do you want to feel my cock fill you again and again hard and fast, to feel my skin slap against yours as I rub your clit? Do you want to be _taken_?”

Her heart was pounding, her breaths short and heavy as they left her lungs, and she found herself craving what he offered. She knew that she was losing control of the situation, that she was _this close_ to melting into him, to giving herself over, and she couldn’t have that...

“I do like it rough,” she admitted, her nails raking down his back as she lifted her legs to wrap them around his waist, grinning at the way he groaned when she rubbed against him, his hands moving to cup her ass, to hold her where he needed her touch. “But I call the shots. I tell you how I want you to touch me.”

He chuckled, pressing light kisses to her jaw. “I don’t mind that in the least. I’d love to hear you tell me exactly what you want, to listen to the moans I pull from between those lovely lips as I discover how to make you wet from just a touch.”

She briefly wondered whether he thought this would be more than a one-time thing, if they’d need more than a night to release the tension and get each other out of their systems. Why would he stay focused on her when he could probably have any woman he wanted? She had to be an interesting challenge, a passing fixation. He’d probably be on to the next girl as soon as they were done.

She pushed the thought away, though not fast enough that she didn’t feel the stab of irrational jealousy hit her gut, and she instinctively began to pull his magic from his body, _claiming_ it. The feel of him was intoxicating, sweet and rich and _right_ , and felt her body heat, her legs shaking. “Bed,” she breathed, her eyes opening slowly. She knew that her gaze was hazy, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she stared at his dark eyes and swollen lips.

She found herself on her back a moment later, the mattress soft and welcoming, and her nipples tightened as her bra and jeans were ripped off with a sharp tug, the chill hitting her all at once. “What do you want now, love?” he asked.

“Touch my breasts,” she whispered, her breathing already heavy, and she moaned as he bent to suck one of her nipples before pulling it between his teeth as his hand kneaded the other breast. “That feels so good.”

He smiled against her skin, pulling back to blow on the slick skin before switching, and she squirmed underneath him as two of his fingers found their way under the thin cotton covering her core, her legs shaking as his knuckles brushed against her swollen clit. “You like that?” he asked with a smirk.

“Yes.”

She spread her legs wider as his fingertips brushed her folds, and she rolled her hips, hoping to guide his fingers to where she wanted them. Growing frustrated, she reached to curl her fingers around his wrist, trying to move his hand to her entrance, craving that friction. She heard him chuckle as he tugged her nipples between his teeth before soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue and looking up at her, his hand not budging despite her best efforts, still giving her infuriatingly teasing strokes against her slick skin. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I want to hear how much you want me.”

She swallowed. “I want you to fuck me with your fingers. Now.”

He grinned, his fang slightly piercing the soft skin of her breast as he plunged two fingers inside her soaking pussy, and she whimpered and arched her back as small beads of blood welled up, his tongue dragging across the small wound. “I love the way you taste, sweetheart.”

Her breath caught as he curled his fingers against her walls before he began to move, fingerfucking her hard and fast, his thumb brushing against her sensitive clit every few strokes.

“Oh, god...” she mumbled, raising her hips to meet each stroke of his fingers and tangling her fingers in his hair. She could feel her muscles tightening as she approached her high, her eyes squeezing tightly shut, and she let out a soft whine of annoyance when he pulled his fingers away. She grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand to her lips to suck her arousal from his skin, and his eyes flashed yellow, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He pulled himself up until they were nose-to-nose, his hands stroking her sides before settling on her hips. She lifted her hips slightly as he pulled her forward to grind the bulge of his cock against the thin barrier covering her pussy, and she parted her legs further, the haze of her need stifling any thoughts of how desperate she must look. “You like that, sweetheart?”

She nodded, wrapping her legs around his waist to get more contact, her nails digging into his back. “I want you. Take your pants off.”

“Not quite yet.”

“I told you, I call the shots.”

He gave her a smug smirk, need obvious in his heavy-lidded eyes. “It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.”

She hesitated before nodding slowly, and he grinned, nuzzling her collarbone, planting a few kisses and licks until she was tipping her head to the side encouragingly. The first pierce of his fang against her neck was painful, but a moment later all she could feel was pure bliss. He shifted their positions so that he was leaning against the headboard of the bed with her straddling him, his hands burning against her skin. He groaned, bucking against her center, and she realized that she’d instinctively begun to drain him, his magic healing her even as he drank.

She wanted more.

Her unrestrained moans filled the air as she rolled her hips against his covered cock, savoring the slightly painful scratch of his nails against her hips, and she reached between them to unbutton his jeans, his palms hot on her back.

He seemed to understand that her need for him was climbing, that she was just on the edge, and she heard a rip of fabric just before she was pulled down onto his length, the feel of him making her mind go blank.

They met in rough, frenzied motions, his hands squeezing her ass harshly as he fucked her hard and fast. He pulled back from her neck, running his tongue along the puncture wound even as she used a burst of his magic to heal it, and she rocked against him as she buried her face in his neck, gasping as he pressed the tip of a finger against her back entrance.

It only took a slight dip and another nip against her jugular to make her shatter, and she was overwhelmed with pleasure as she rode out her high, vaguely feeling him come inside of her.

They remained still as they came down, all heavy breathing and sweat-slicked skin. He slowly grabbed her wrists and pressed them to his chest.

“Worth it?” he asked with a wicked grin, and she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak, though she got the message he was giving her and absorbed a bit more of his magic, letting it fill her, taking the edge off her exhaustion.

“Again,” she breathed, and he chuckled, his finger lazily stroking the sensitive skin just below her ass. “I want you again.”

She gasped as he gave her ass a harsh pinch. “Tell me how. Tell me your fantasies, Caroline. Let me touch you until you can’t think of any word but _more_.”

Her pussy was throbbing, and she could feel him hardening again beneath her.

“I guess I have a few ideas...”

* * *

“Leaving so soon?”

Caroline looked up from the suitcase she was packing to see Klaus’s brother in the doorway. “I did Klaus his favor. I don’t have any reason to stay.”

“Other than you two going at it like the energizer bunny for six hours straight?”

She flushed, her mouth opening as she tried to figure out how to respond. “Haven’t you been dead for the past hundred years? How do you know what the energizer bunny is?”

“I was on the Other Side as the world changed,” he said, walking into her room and sitting on the bed she’d just left, the covers still kicked around the foot of the mattress. “I watched my brother, and then once he met you, I watched you.”

“Why?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips.

“Because my brother’s obsessed with you,” Kol said bluntly. “Weakness to exploit or weapon to be stolen.”

She shot him a glare before turning back to her suitcase and re-folding a shirt, more for something to do than anything else as she thought through her response. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not be exploited or stolen. Been there, done that. It’s no fun.”

“At least you’re smart enough not to deny that he’s especially fond of you.”

“That’s his problem. Not mine. I came and did the favor, which _you’re welcome,_ and it’s time for me to leave. If he wants to try to talk to me, he can find me, but I’m not going to hang around like a groupie.”

Kol was silent as she continued to pointlessly rearrange her belongings in her suitcase, and she was about to zip up and leave when he spoke again, his lips tipped in a smile. “Cowardly little thing, aren’t you?”

Caroline snorted. She’d been called many things in life, but ‘cowardly’ had never been one.

“A healthy sense of self-preservation isn’t cowardice. It’s survival.”

“Self-preservation? I can’t imagine any place where you would be more safe than with my brother.”

She got the impression that he was mostly arguing for the sake of arguing, enjoying poking at her clearest insecurities, and she resisted the urge to tell him what an ass he was. As cruelly playful as he was being, she knew that Kol was dangerous.

“Klaus hurts people he cares about,” Caroline said shortly. “Even if I was safe with him and he would never hurt me, I was kept ‘safe’ for five years in a prison, and I’d rather be free and in danger than locked up.”

“You just don’t want to face the possibility of trusting someone other than yourself. You don’t want to let him in. You’re scared.”

She wasn’t sure whether his clear amusement was at her expense or Klaus’s, but either way it wasn’t endearing him to her at all.

She huffed, pulling the handle out of the suitcase and setting it on its wheels. “Did you sit in on a Psychology 101 course in your time on the Other Side as well?”

“Not denying it,” he said, his voice almost mocking.

She wanted to deny it _so much_ , to say that it had nothing to do with fear, but she’d always been bad at lying.

“It was nice to meet you, Kol,” she muttered, brushing past him, the wheels of her suitcase clacking against the floor.

“Bye, darling. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon enough.”

* * *

Caroline checked her watch, deciding that if this random guy Bonnie had set her up with didn’t show in the next five minutes, she’d head back to her apartment. She’d been early, as usual, and after being pointedly glanced at by the bartender once she finished her first alarmingly orange cocktail, she ordered another.

And another.

And some curly fries.

“Hello, love.”

Caroline froze with her drink halfway to her lips. She set it down, turning slowly in her bar stool to face Klaus, who was standing right behind her, his hands in his pockets. “Hi.”

They stood still for a few seconds, staring at each other before Klaus spoke again, his head tilted to the side. “How have you been?”

_Having withdrawal symptoms. Sub-par sex. Studying for my Calculus test._

“It’s been literally two weeks, so not much has changed.”

He smiled, gesturing to the bar stool. “May I sit?”

“I mean, it’s not like I can stop you.”

Taylor Lakewood or whatever had _clearly_ stood her up, after all.

She turned away, sipping her cocktail and trying to figure out why he’d come after her. Luckily, he seemed to sense her train of thought and she didn’t have to ask. “I was under the impression that you were staying.”

She spoke before her three lava-tequila-bombed brain could filter. “Seriously? Why?”

“You seemed content when you fell asleep.”

“Yeah. I was asleep. Generally people are content when they sleep,” she said irritably.

“I’d assumed you would be there when I woke.”

“I didn’t expect you to be so clingy,” she said dryly, and he snorted.

“I’m simply curious. I’m not a heavy sleeper, so do tell me how you managed to sneak off without waking me.”

“I guess I wore you out,” she said, eyes wide with false innocence.

She didn’t want to admit that she siphoned him slowly enough that he wouldn’t notice and would sleep through her escape.

“I assure you, Caroline, that as excellent as our sex marathon was, it was not the longest or most tiring I’ve experienced,” he said with a smirk.

“Shh! Not so loud. We’re in _public_.”

She also kind of didn’t want to hear about Klaus’s sex marathons with anyone else. If he could be irrationally jealous, she figured she could get a pass on this one.

His eyes were sparkling with amusement, _satisfaction_ at her reaction, and she scowled. “My apologies, though you aren’t exactly being quiet. How many of those have you had?”

She rolled her eyes. “Three. I’m fine.”

“I’ll trust your judgment, I suppose,” he said, his lips twitching as she rested her chin on her palm, looking at him.

“That’s good, because I’m right.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“Why did you leave so quickly?”

She bit her lip, turning away to stare at her glass, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I thought you’d try to stop me leaving. I didn’t want...”

“I wouldn’t force you to stay, Caroline,” Klaus said, irritation thick in his tone.

“I know,” she muttered.

“I’d like to know what you’re implying, then.”

His voice was icy, and she sighed, giving up on sipping the cocktail and downing it instead in one gulp.

Surprisingly, she was not yet drunk enough for this conversation.

“I didn’t know if I’d be able to leave,” she said, so quietly that her words were almost inaudible, though she had no doubt he’d heard. “I wasn’t sure I could make myself.”

The way it had felt when he sucked her blood as she drained him... It had been the most erotic, mind-blowing thing she’d ever experienced, and that was dangerous. She knew how easy it would be to get lost in the power she could consume from him, how addictive it could be. She didn’t want to get too used to it.

“Then don’t,” he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Klaus, we’ve literally known each other for like, three days.”

“Get to know me, then.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course.”

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” she asked exasperatedly, wincing at how slurred her words sounded when they came out.

Klaus seemed unphased, however, his grin even growing wider. “I’m not obsessed, love. I just find you interesting.”

“Well, find someone else interesting.”

“But I want you.”

She huffed. “You only want me because I’m saying no.”

“That assertion is decidedly false.”

“You are literally the most pretentious person I’ve ever met.”

“You should meet Elijah.”

“Who?”

“My brother.”

“Wow, onto meeting the family already? That’s moving a bit fast.”

“So we are moving, then?”

“In your dreams,” she muttered, her eyes widening at his cat-that-ate-the-canary grin.

“Oh, I assure you that in my dreams you move quite well.”

“You’re gross,” she muttered, unable to muster any bite in her tone.

“Not what you said two weeks ago, sweetheart.”

She scoffed. “What are you, sixteen?”

“Give or take a few centuries.”

He was clearly fighting down a smile, and Caroline found herself wondering how the supernatural community would react if they knew the scary Original Hybrid was a total dork.

Well, they’d probably be dead if they said anything.

She turned around on the barstool relatively smoothly, but the expression of intense concentration on her face must have given away the fact that all three lava-tequila-bombs had now gone to her head. “Whatever. I have a calc test tomorrow. I have to study.”

“How far away is your flat?”

She shrugged. “Ten minute walk, maybe?”

“It’s dark and you’re drunk.”

“True, but I could also kill up to three people in thirty seconds with my bare hands, so...” she trailed off, and Klaus snorted.

“Yes, but you’re still rather breakable.”

“See, this is what I mean about being trapped. Like, I get that it’s probably not the best idea, but I want to do it, so I will. Because I can do whatever I want.”

He opened his mouth before closing it, clearly rethinking what he was about to say.

“Well you can, but would you consider staying here until you’re just a tad more sober?”

She stared at him. If she’d detected any hint that he wanted to spend more time with her because she was drunk, she’d head home. However, all she saw was badly-concealed genuine concern, and she huffed, turning back towards the bar.

“Do you want a curly fry?” she asked abruptly, plucking one off the plate and biting into it.

He looked at the plate of cold, limp fries on the bar and she couldn’t help but giggle at the incredulous look on his face. “I had no idea these were a thing, you know,” she said, unable to stop herself from talking. “Like, obviously I’d had fries before the whole ‘magical child gladiator’ thing, but I didn’t remember them being so good. They were pretty much all I ate for the first month after I left. Well, that and chicken nuggets, but then I gained like, five pounds.”

She didn’t know why she was babbling about her lifelong love affair with deep-fried foods, but Klaus was staring at her as though it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard, and it made her feel both excited and completely out of her depth.

“Anyway, they sort of remind me of leaving the mansion, you know? Like, new beginnings,” she rambled, and he hummed, still drinking her in. She flushed, shifting uncomfortably before picking up a fry from the plate. “So. Want one?”

He glanced at the limp fry she was offering him, still clearly a bit bemused, but reached out to take it.

 

* * *

“Are you seriously suggesting that there was some sort of hidden symbolism in my drunk self offering you a curly fry?”

“Wasn’t there?”

She practically growled, cursing herself and her terrible life choices before stalking back inside her apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow. It had been a constant argument for the last few years, surfacing whenever he popped up ‘coincidentally’. He left her alone for a few months at a time, but would always resurface, and she’d known for quite awhile that it was only a matter of time until she gave in. She was mostly holding out from sheer stubbornness at this point.

And okay, _maybe_ part of the reason she was so mad at him was because she knew that she should want to stop liking him _._ _He’s an evil vampire serial killer,_ she reminded herself, _evil_.

Though as much as she wanted to believe that...

She knew evil. She knew what it was like to feel small and helpless, and Klaus didn’t make her feel that way. Yes, there were almost definitely people who thought Klaus was evil, but there were also people who thought Thierry was kind and charming and reasonable.

It was all a matter of perspective. Yes, Klaus was a scary person, and probably could kill everyone in a mile-radius without batting an eyelash, but he didn’t make her fear for her life the way Thierry did. He didn’t take away her choices or try to restrict her. He even trusted her, at least to a point.

She wanted him and his magic and his dimpled smiles and the way he looked at her... And she was scared that she’d stopped hating herself for it.

“No, Klaus. I was _drunk_.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice as he followed her inside, the click of the door shutting sounding behind her before the creak indicating he was leaning against it.

“So you’re saying that when I’m sober I’d be thinking of how to construct elaborate metaphors using fried foods?”

“That’s not what a metaphor is, sweetheart.”

She huffed, flopping down on her couch. “God, you’re infuriating.”

“Why? Because I know the definition of a basic literary concept?”

“No, because you are a literal serial killer who I was supposed to be done with by now who thinks that I want to have sex with him because I drunkenly offered him a curly fry with a generous helping of my life story.”

“I never said anything about sex, sweetheart. That was all you.”

“Stop calling me sweetheart.”

“All right, love.”

“Are you _serious right now_?”

“Very.”

She found it difficult not to get distracted by those leather cords peeking out from under his collar, the way his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was smiling, a boyish grin that made warmth bloom in her chest, and she crossed her arms, her teeth gritted.

“Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Stop making me like you,” she burst out.

His lips twitched as he pushed off the door, his hands clasped behind his back as he lazily wandered to the window overlooking the bustling city below. “And why should I?”

“You’re evil.”

He faced her and rolled his eyes, his lips twitching. “Try again, and this time say something you actually believe.”

“You killed people.”

“So have you.”

“Under duress.”

“But hasn’t a part of you ever enjoyed it?” he asked quietly. “The rush of the life you siphon from them crawling under your skin? The way you hold the power?”

“Yes,” she admitted, stiffening. “But I hate myself for liking it. You don’t.”

“Perhaps,” he said, cocking his head to the side as he observed her. “Perhaps...”

“It’s true,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes.

“Tell me why you’re so hesitant,” he said, and she sighed.

She gestured to the chair on the other side of the coffee table and he walked over and sat, observing her as she shifted. “I don’t want to feel trapped,” she admitted. “I mean, I know I told you this, but I don’t want to be scared that you’ll chase me, hurt me if I leave you.”

“I would never hurt you, Caroline.”

“You can’t just say that. How do you know?”

He just looked at her, and she could tell that he was trying to come up with something before he looked away. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust me.”

“That’s not much to go on.”

He smiled slightly. “Indeed, it’s not. However, I do understand the feeling of being trapped and helpless, and I would never wish that you go through it again.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked away, his shoulders tightening. “A story for another time, I think.”

She wanted to press, but she could tell that it would hurt rather than help. “Okay,” she said.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, Klaus’s fingertips drumming on his knee in a constant rhythm, and she found herself staring at them, oddly fascinated with his long calloused fingers and the jagged scar on the curve of skin where his thumb met his palm.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“I’ll wait,” he said simply, and she could feel in her bones that he was completely serious.

Her mind was racing, the temptation of staying with Klaus tantalizing and not at all out of reach, and he was silent as he watched her, not pushing, just waiting.

Like he’d waited for the past few years.

Like he said he would if she needed time.

“Okay,” she said quietly, her eyes flicking up from his hands to look at his face. “I’ll...we can try.”

He smiled, boyish and dimpled, and she couldn’t help but smile back, standing and walking to him, letting her lips tip up as he rose to meet her. She loved the feel of being in his arms, she thought as he pulled her against his chest, his lips pressing to her forehead. The gesture was oddly intimate, the moment much sweeter than she’d expected, and she leaned against him, her eyes closing.

“So, just for clarification sake, there was, in fact, symbolism in the curly fries?” he asked, his lips moving against her forehead as he spoke.

She cracked an eye open, glaring at him. “I will literally let you fall asleep and slowly dessicate you until you are a dry carcass of anger and salt.”

“I’ll take that as a yes then, love.”


End file.
